Wraith
by Spartapuss
Summary: What if Frodo had not survived being stabbed with the morgul blade? He would have continued to become a lesser wraith like the Nazgûl! NOTE: I wrote this aaages ago, it's ever so slightly terrible. But some people have faved it so I will humour them XD
1. A Knife in the Dark

Frodo heard them first. The swish of a black cloak. The clink of an armoured boot. He turned with dread, and saw the menacing Ringwraith slowly advancing on him. Now Sam, Merry and Pippin turned too, and their eyes opened wide. All of the Hobbits backed away as one, automatically forming a shield to protect the Ringbearer and brandishing their short but sharp swords at the approaching figures. Sam ran forward yelling and attacked the closest wraith, but his blows were parried and he was thrown aside. Merry and Pippin pressed themselves next to each other in the vain hope that perhaps Frodo would not be seen, but alas! the power of the One Ring could not be concealed by mere flesh, and the Ringwraiths were drawn to it like a mosquito is to blood.

Frodo stared in horror as his friends were thrust out of the way, and the lead Ringwraith strode unhindered towards him. Backing away, his foot slipped on the wet stone and his sword slithered out of his grasp. Still, the once-human fiend came at him and, his eyes still locked upon the shadowy hood of the wraith, he wriggled backwards, hoping to find something with which to defend himself. And then at last, as he knew he must, he reached the ruined wall.

Suddenly, a strange and powerful compulsion came over him.

_Put it on!_

It was like before, when the Black Rider had tried to make him reveal himself by wearing the Ring. Frodo knew now that he could not resist it without help, and surrendering his will, he let his finger slip into the smooth golden centre of the Ring.

Immediately, everything was put into a new perspective. Colours were dim and shadowy, flickering in some unknown wind. The five cloaked forms of the Ringwraiths were suddenly transformed into the ghosts of the once-noble men. They were tall, with jewelled crowns and shining swords, and the nearest wraith beckoned to Frodo.

"The Ring!" A deadly voice in his head seemed to cry. "The Ring!"

But though Frodo had put the ring on, the wraiths had not the power to make him hand it over of his own volition. With a groan of effort, he pulled his hand away from the ancient king's.

The wraith hissed in fury, and stabbed Frodo.

The blade felt like a needle-sharp sliver of white-hot ice, and as it plunged into his shoulder, he uttered an agonised scream. But while the corrupt king was gloating over his victim, a bright light came into view ahead of him. It was Strider, wielding a flaming torch and his sword, attacking the wraiths with burning fire. The Ringwraiths drew back from him, and Frodo took the opportunity to remove the Ring. At once, as if the Wraith world had held it in check, the pain came flooding back with a renewed onslaught.

Gasping, clouds of blackness swirled inside his head, and he slumped to the ground. He heard his name being called, but it was as if he was underwater; sounds were muffled beneath a heavy blanket. Strider seemed to move impossibly quickly, yet jerkily, as if he was stopping and starting constantly. One wraith defeated. Two wraiths. Three. Frodo knew that he was losing consciousness, and he feared that he would die. The wound burned to his very core, yet with freezing tendrils of ice instead of fire. He gazed at the small twinkling lights of the stars in the night sky above.

Then Sam was by his side. He held Frodo's hands and the fear went away. It was replaced by blessed nothingness. And pain.

Black…

The others were there too now. Pippin stroked his forehead.

Black…

Strider as well. Hands pried and poked at his shoulder, and then he felt himself being lifted. Up, up into the diamond sky.

Black…


	2. Flight

Frodo remembered only brief flashes of the flight from Weathertop. The slightly sour smell of Strider's musty old jerkin against his cheek, the dark sky rushing past like a midnight river flecked with sparkling foam, the ever-present pain in his left shoulder. He remembered calling out for Gandalf. But no reply ever came.

The haunting, shrieking calls of the Black Riders echoed through the wind-tossed land. They cut through him, made him jerk and struggle, made him want to hit Strider and run to join them, the Ring willingly offered in his servile hand. But Strider's arms were tough and his legs were long, covering distance with ease and bearing them both into the deepest places of the wilderness.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back with something soft underneath him. A blanket. He lay peacefully with his eyes closed for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the others bustling about. Eventually, a spasm of pain jolted his eyes open.

"He's awake!" cried a voice.

It was probably Pippin, owing to the childlike enthusiasm that always surrounded him. He sensed that he was bending over him, but couldn't make Pippin's features out in the darkness. At least, he hoped it was the darkness. Frodo's eyes felt hot and dry, and everything seemed a little blurred. Strider came over to him, and knelt. He was holding a bowl of steaming water, and began to gently wash his wound.

Frodo cried out in agony. The cloth seemed rough and jagged to him; his shoulder being inflamed and sensitive.

Strider began talking to him soothingly, though every so often his ears would fill with screeching and white noise.

"You were stabbed by a Morgul knife, Frodo. But do not worry, for though I have not the skill to heal you, the Elves do, and it is to Rivendell to which we must get you as quickly as possible."

The companions were silent for a few moments; sorrowfully imagining what could happen if it were not reached in time. An owl hooted mournfully in the lonely lands.

"No Athelas, I am afraid." said Strider quietly, dabbing the rag in the bowl once more.

"Athelas?" This was presumably Sam, always wanting to expand his knowledge of growing things.

"Kingsfoil. It would have helped to slow the poison, but I have none with me, and for all my skill as a Ranger, I cannot find any growing here." Aragorn sighed, and resumed cleaning Frodo's injured shoulder.

He moaned, but Strider quickly and skilfully finished working, and then rose. He packed his healing equipment away in Bill's saddlebags, and then disappeared into the dark forest on some mysterious errand of his own.

Unconsciously, the Hobbits huddled around the bright flames of the campfire. The last thing Frodo saw was this peaceful scene, before a wave of hurt and dizziness came from his shoulder and crashed over him.

**A.N**

I mixed up some of the events in this chapter, but I don't want to put them into the correct order because it is now my story! AHAHA!! :)

Had some nice reviews - keep 'em coming!


	3. An Early Start

The bright light of morning came all too slowly for Frodo. He hadn't got any sleep, as his wound had alternately burned and frozen him in agonising twinges during the night. But, in the watery glow of the pale sunrise, he found that the pain in his shoulder lessened, and he was able to stand and walk a little in the clearing. Yet he found that he was exhausted easily, and so spent the next hour lying dozing against the soft flanks of Bill the pony.

Soon, the rest of his companions were up, and they began readying themselves for the day ahead and preparing a quick breakfast. Sam brought some of it over to him - a thick, lumpy porridge which he had no doubt filled your stomach. However, Frodo had no appetite.

"Come on" said Sam, with concern, "Eat up! It's only a bit a porridge, and we have a long day ahead of us. It'll do you good sir." He waved the dish temptingly around with a small smile.

Frodo smiled too, but could only force down a few stodgy bites, as he began to feel nauseous. Sam took away the half-full bowl with a disapproving frown, but he removed it nonetheless.

After they had broken their fast, Strider discovered Frodo's inability to walk far, and so they decided to put him on the pony. In doing so, they had to remove all of their bags and belongings, and the Ringbearer felt extremely guilty as he watched his friends labour under the extra weight. As the ranger showed Pippin how to put the saddle on, Frodo hauled himself up with effort and limped over. He leaned against a grey tree to rest, and to watch his youngest cousin struggling to fasten the straps.

Once it was accomplished, Pippin red-faced yet tremendously proud, Strider helped Frodo over to Bill. The pony gazed at him with liquid hazel eyes, and snorted softly. He put his foot in a stirrup and tried to mount it one-armed, but slipped off with a cry. Without the use of his left arm, he couldn't support himself. He looked helplessly at Strider, who nodded, and then put his arms around his waist and gently lifted him up. Frodo managed to get his legs in the right place, and he sat with his eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavily as his wound shrieked in protest.

They made excellent progress through the wilderness that day. As the dewy mists of morning dissipated, the day was revealed in all of its blue skies and splendour. This raised the spirits of everyone greatly, and soon they were merrily singing songs and telling stories. Apparently, Pippin had smuggled a large flask of liquor with him from the Prancing Pony, and soon the three hobbits were teaching Strider an alternate version of Bilbo's walking song. Suffice to say, it was not as it had been intended by Bilbo, who had written it. Frodo was surprised and a little shocked at the many imaginative and colourful words little Pippin knew.

But as nightfall approached and the violet shades of evening drew across Middle-Earth, he began to get a little apprehensive. Evil was most powerful in the dark, and his injury seemed to hurt more and more as the evening drew on. Presently, he couldn't concentrate on anything that his companions were saying, nor the silhouetted scenery against the orange skyline. His whole left side felt as if claws of ice were laid upon it, and he was shivering so violently that he could hardly sit upright.

As Merry was just rounding off a well-told yarn about a mischievous third cousin who had once kidnapped all of his grandfather's goats, he heard a small sound, and then a thump. He and Strider spun around, their senses alert and tense, and their hands upon their sword hilts. But instead of a Black Rider, or a fell beast sneaking up on them, it was Frodo, sprawled on the ground.

They rushed over to him in panic, merriment forgotten. While Sam ran off to rescue Bill, Merry and Pippin helped Strider to turn Frodo over. To their thankful relief, he was conscious and unharmed, though he was extraordinarily pale and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and upper lip.

"Oh Frodo…" whispered Pippin, hugging him tightly.


	4. Taking A Tumble

They made camp earlier than expected. Frodo was carried to the newly-kindled fire and laid down to rest, while the others went off into the forest a little ways to talk. Frodo knew that he was being discussed and that everyone was worried about him, but he didn't care. He just shivered and stared into the flames.

"My master is very sick, isn't he?" asked Sam, sadly.

"Yes." replied Strider, "If we do not reach Rivendell in time, he will die."

"Die? How can he die? His wound was small, and it has already closed. There's nothing to be seen but a cold white mark on his shoulder."

"Frodo has been touched by the weapons of the Enemy," said Strider, "and there is some poison or evil at work that is beyond my skill to drive out."

"But is there nothing we can do?" enquired Pippin anxiously.

Strider's eyes were deep and brooding as he considered this.

"We can keep him warm, and we can keep moving. We can hope. We can have faith in his strength." he said slowly, "But above those, then no. We can do nothing."

They returned to the camp with downcast faces and in weary demeanour. Merry and Pippin went off to gather more firewood, and Sam stayed to tend to the pony.

As he was lovingly brushing Bill's chestnut mane, Sam thought hard about the predicament they were in. Providing they covered ground quickly, they should reach the Elves before his master succumbed to the Morgul blade. Frodo would need to ride Bill, but he could come crashing off at any time if he fell unconscious.

"Fall off… eh?" pondered Sam to himself. An idea came into his head, and he reached up to rummage in the saddlebags.

Bearing teetering stacks of sticks, the small figures of Merry and Pippin came staggering out of the dark woods and into the flickering orange glow of the fire. The ranger watched them with interest, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Look Strider!"Pippin excitedly exclaimed, lurching up to him, "Just look at all the wood that I collected!"

"You collected? What about me?" growled Merry, coming up behind him, "You pilfered most of that from my pile! Sticky-fingered rascal!"

"Now Merry, don't insult me like that in front of -"

"I think l will have those back, thank you very much Pip!" Merry made a grab for the sticks, but overloaded as he was, he overbalanced, and toppled forwards onto Pippin. There was an almighty clatter as they both tumbled down, and the firewood flew up around them.

As pieces of bark and leaves slowly fluttered down, there was a hush.

Frodo turned to Strider, whose mouth was jerking uncontrollably. Their gazes met, and abruptly they broke into peals of laughter, Frodo's pale face becoming almost rosy. Merry looked irritated and shifted uncomfortably, yet when Pippin spat out a mouthful of leaves, even he could not hold in a chuckle.

"You… You look ridiculous Peregrin Took!" he tittered gleefully.

"Speak for yourself, Brandybuck!" retorted Pippin, amid gales of laughter, and he dived onto Merry and began playfully wrestling with him.

As Strider went in to break them up, Frodo started to laugh all the harder. The sight of the tall, lean ranger trying unsuccessfully to prise apart two small scuffling hobbits was enough to make his sides split. And then suddenly, they really did hurt, and the next thing he knew, he was curled up in a tight ball, his shoulder full of icy daggers and the sickly white pallor back in his skin.

Strider promptly shooed the rest of the hobbits away, and covered Frodo's shivering form in a soft grey blanket. He gathered some of the scattered wood and built up the fire until it was roaring and yellow.

"Keep the fire burning." He instructed them, somewhat gruffly, "And behave yourselves!"

**A.N**

Sorry, lots of speech in this one; I wanted to get a bit of their characters in through dialogue rather than description (Too much?).

Yeah, I pinched a few lines from Tolkien, but they are good lines, and I like them : Pouts :

Still a bit muddled, I know, but eventually things will straighten out.

I hope.

Please, dear God!

: Lightning bolt zaps down and fries me before I have a chance to work on the 5th chapter :


	5. White Noise

The next day dawned grim, overcast and cloudy. Sam proudly revealed what he had been working on during the night.

"A harness!" he proclaimed, holding it aloft, "You just hook it on to this bit here, like so…" He demonstrated, pointing to various strings and knots. Strider watched with interest, but Sam sensed that the other hobbits were barely listening and only humouring him. He glanced at Frodo in askance.

"Thank you Sam…" said Frodo weakly. Truth be told, he did not really understand the complicated mesh of ropes. He supposed that he would have taken more of an interest in the contraption, had he been back in the Shire; back in his cosy hobbit-hole, back in full health. But here he was, gravely wounded and in the wilderness with a light drizzle just beginning to patter down. No regrets.

Frodo was installed upon the saddle, and Sam tied the harness tightly around him.  
The company hurried along, hoping that they would make camp before the storm clouds opened fully. But this was in vain, as it began to pour down around midday. Soon everything was dripping and soaked, and the once firm, dry dirt underfoot turned to churned-up mud. The hobbits and Strider struggled along, their boots sucking and squelching, while Bill stepped carefully behind them.

It was one of the most miserable days Frodo had ever experienced. The freezing water dripped down between his clothes and chilled him to the bone, while the wind plastered his dark hair across his face. Beneath him, the pony's hair was sodden and matted with droplets. Clouds sank low across the landscape, obscuring their vision and making it increasingly difficult to see.

Frodo found himself drifting; his mind wandering to far off places in order to escape reality. He tried shaking his head, but the only thing that it accomplished was flinging a spray of water around. Clouds floated around his head as well as in the wilderness. His shoulder ached with a dull yet near pain.

He suddenly discovered he was leaning against Bill's soft neck, his forehead pressed against the clammy warmth. He pulled himself vertical again with a groan. Frodo sat, swaying at every jolt and roll, and stared sightlessly up at the milky white sky. The icy rain pummelled his skin, shocking his body, yet somehow deadening his senses still more. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he tilted sideways.

White…

The first sensation he felt was one of frozen limbs and wetness. So cold. Someone calling his name. His name?

"Frodo!"

An endless pause.

"Frodo?"

"Wake up!"

Being shaken. Darkness seeping in through the blank behind his eyelids. A familiar face.

"M…Merry?" he whispered. "Why is it so dark?"

"Begging your pardon, but it isn't, Mr Frodo." said Sam.

"But…" he stopped, unsure how to phrase his question. He didn't think anyone would understand. "What happened?"asked Merry

"I saw the sky, and the heavens wheeling about, and clouds drifting on a zephyr… Then just white nothingness."

He noticed his friends look at each other with concern.

"Well, all I can say is, we should be thankful for that harness." chirped Pippin. "If you hadn't been wearing it, then you would have just gone…" He made a movement like a tree falling over.

"Ker-whoosh!"

Merry raised an eyebrow.

"Precisely Pip."

The four chuckled, and then began making camp. Strider walked towards Bill, from where he had been watching, and helped Frodo off. As his feet touched the ground, a bout of dizziness overcame him, and he collapsed into the ranger's arms

**A.N**

Late night typing: probably not up to my usual standard but... meh… I felt like it. Tell me if you have any outstanding quibbles etc.

: Yawn:

According to the wonderful and all-knowing Goldenashes, it's a bit slow... so please review and tell me what you think [and how I can solve this] :)


	6. Failing

The moment Frodo awoke at sunrise, he felt pain. The numbing, icy feeling had spread down his whole body, and he found it almost impossible to move, save for a constant shivering. His shoulder burned as if it were aflame, and he could hardly see at all through the grim grey mist that had descended over everything.

He could hear a faint moaning; a horrible, desperate sort of moan that he had only ever heard wounded animals making. With a cold rush, he realized that his mouth was open and the noise was emanating from him. Frodo stopped immediately, hating himself for sounding so pitiful and weak. But he discovered that this had a harmful effect; the agony he felt had no release, and his whimpers caught up in his throat and choked him.

It was in this state that Merry came upon him, a pale, corpse-like body, coughing wretchedly and covered in cold sweat.

"Frodo!" he cried, crouching over him, "Whatever's the matter?

But Frodo could not move his tongue to reply, and a small groan escaped him.

Merry stroked his brow tenderly with a trembling hand. The skin was freezing.

"Oh Frodo…" Merry sighed, and then stood up. "I shall wake Strider. He'll know what to do."

Soon, he found Strider bending over him, a concerned expression just visible upon his rugged face. A familiar sight, he reflected.

The Ranger noticed how stiff the hobbit's body was. He grasped Frodo's right hand firmly, and spoke clearly. "Can you move your fingers?" There was no reaction, no reply, no sign that he had been heard. He glanced up at the others, who had gathered behind him with small worried faces.

"I do not think we will travel today." He informed them, in a defeated tone.

"But we have to get to Rivendell!" Sam cried. "That's his only chance!"

"I'm sorry, but we cannot move him, even if it is to try and take him to the elves. It would probably do more harm than good, I am afraid. I fear that the stress of riding might kill him." Strider's posture softened and he knelt down on the ground.

"If we can't go to the elves, can the elves not come to us?" piped up Pippin.

"I have already thought of that, but it is not a choice which is available to us. If any elves come, it will be down to their own choosing, or to blind chance."

"So… My master must die." stated Sam softly.

"I will do all that I can to save him." Strider bowed his head.

**A.N**

Sorry I haven't uploaded anything for a while. My excuse? I was busy. Lame, I know.

I also lost inspiration and the will to write, but, thanks to the depressing yet moving music of Coldplay, I am back. _yes she's back, yes she's back, yes she's back_

Not sure where this is heading, but I have all Christmas to think about it!

**_(I AM GOING TO BRING IN AN ELF. SHOULD IT BE ARWEN OR GLORFINDEL???? _**

**_PLEASE VOTE NOW :D_**

**_... OR EMAIL ME...)_**


	7. I Would If I Could

Strider worked throughout the night on the hobbit's wound. Being a ranger, he had a wide knowledge of herbs, tools and medicine, but some things were beyond even him. Unfortunately, Frodo was one such example. As the red sun peeked over the forests of the wilderness, Aragorn finally laid down his instruments and fell back in exhaustion. Feelings of guilt and sorrow swirled around his head as he stared at his failure. All those years spent with the elves, learning healing and studying herblore. And for what? To be the only person who could help his friend, and to be able to do nothing!

Grinding his fists against the dirt, he clenched his teeth as helpless sobs racked him. A hand grasped his shoulder. He looked around, face wet. It was Sam. The hobbit had been crying too, his eyes sore and puffy.

"It's alright Mr Strider, sir. Don't you go thinking you've failed. Cause you haven't, you know. You gave us some hope, and we're thankful for that small comfort. It's not your fault that Frodo's going to... going to die." He halted abruptly, lips quivering.

"Thank you Sam. We will face this together."

Strider studied Frodo again. He was thinner than ever; his face gaunt and his cheeks hollow. The hobbit's eyes were open and glazed, as if in death, and the irises were a cold milky blue. In the last few hours, blue veins had appeared close to the surface of his skin. They were all over his body, but especially around the knife wound. A curious greenish froth had begun seeping from the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"He looks - terrible…" whispered Sam. "Like a… like a monster!" He clapped his hands over his mouth suddenly.

"Forgive me! I don't know what I'm saying, sir!" he cried in anguish, tears streaming down his face.

"Hush, Samwise Gamgee. Pull yourself together! Now, we must not dwell on the present, but think ahead to the future. When Frodo… changes, we will have to -"

"Changes?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Well… He will become a wraith."

"A wraith? But - but he can't! I won't let him!" Sam jumped up.

"Sam, it is already happening. You alone cannot stop it. His image will weaken and fade, and he will become insubstantial. After that… I do not know." The ranger attempted to console him, putting an arm around the hobbit, but he was shrugged off.

"Then it would be better for him to die!" Sam said passionately.

"Perhaps. It is an unspeakably wretched fate that he goes to. I would not wish it upon my worst enemy, let alone my friend."

"Why don't we? Why don't we kill him now, and save him from this doom?"

Aragorn looked intently at him.

"Be my guest, master Gamgee." Strider reached to his belt, and pulled out a long knife. He held it out.

Sam recoiled.

"No! Can't I - can't you … But…" He broke off, hanging his head and sobbing noisily.

Aragorn lifted Sam's chin.

"Believe me; I would do it if I could. I have wrestled with it for many a day, but I know that I could not bring myself to do it. It is weak of me. "

"And of me."

"No. You have known him a long while, and should never have to do this. It is my responsibility. Yet I cannot."

There was silence for a time.

**A.N**

Well, a merry birthmasnewyearseasterday to everyone! I slightly missed my target of having a new instalment wrapped up and ready for Christmas, but, like an unorganised relative, it eventually arrives.

This is probably one of my favourite chapters. Bravo, me! Hehe XD


	8. Glorfindel

The atmosphere in the temporary camp was tangible. A blanket of hopelessness and sorrow had descended upon the gathered companions, and all were quiet and brooding. Even Merry and Pippin, normally the liveliest and most talkative of hobbits, were hushed and sombre. Perhaps in an unspoken echo of their friend, who lay deathly still on a pile of blankets by the crackling fire, ironically next to the only object for leagues making any sound.

Aragorn, vigilant as ever, kept watch over the dying hobbit. He noticed with keen eyes that Frodo had deteriorated again, and his pale skin had begun to… to…

For once, Strider didn't know the right words. He had never seen anything like this before. The skin had become almost translucent, and he saw that beneath the thin, fragile barrier, mysterious colours and clouds churned and boiled; trapped within Frodo. The hobbit was obviously in great pain; that much was clear. Though he could no longer speak or move, there was endless tormented expression in his staring, washed out eyes that made his friends hurt inside whenever they looked.

When the sun began to set, Sam came to sit at his master's side like a faithful hound. For hours, he stayed next to Frodo, occasionally wiping his brow tenderly or adjusting the blankets so as to cover him better.

Soon, the gentle heat from the fire and the peaceful darkness of the night lulled him into a doze, as it did for all the hobbits. But not Aragorn, who sat gazing deep into the flames and singing softly to himself in the elvish tongue. And so it was he who first noticed the intruder. His eyes flicked up and he arose swiftly.

"Who or what are you?" he hissed, drawing his sword. The cold metallic rasp of the blade woke Sam, who raised his head abruptly, his eyes round and startled. For a moment, it seemed as if the stranger would back away into the shadows behind, but then they cautiously stepped forward into the bright firelight.

Sam gasped. An Elf!

"Glorfindel!" Strider exclaimed. "My friend!"

"Ai na vedui Dunádan! Mae govannen!" cried the Elf-Lord, running to meet him. They embraced warmly. As soon as they had pulled apart, they began speaking quickly and urgently together, with many a glance towards Frodo.

Sam fidgeted nervously, his eyes cast down. When he looked up a while later, he saw that they were still earnestly talking. Then his gaze was drawn behind them, to the thicket of trees out of which Glorfindel had emerged. A white horse stood there, magnificent and pure as newly fallen snow. It wore a beautiful bridle that sparkled as if stars were scattered upon it, and it regarded Sam with dark intelligent eyes.

With a quick look at the two Big Folk, he stole quietly towards the wonderful animal. Entranced, he began to cautiously pat its nose, and then he gathered the courage to stroke its glossy mane. A whicker from the other side of the camp interrupted him, and he snapped his head round guiltily. It was Bill, looking at him dolefully and pawing the ground.

"Ah. I see you have already met my horse. His name is Asfaloth." said Glorfindel, suddenly looming above him unexpectedly. "I am Glorfindel. I was sent from Rivendell to look for you. We feared that you were in danger upon the road." He frowned sadly at Aragorn. "This has confirmed our fears."

"You were looking for us? Why?" said a wary sounding voice. It was Merry, who had been woken by the exchange and was standing looking rather peeved, with his arms firmly folded.

The Elf said tersely, "We had learnt the Nine were abroad, and feared you would lose your way in the wilderness trying to avoid pursuit." He shifted slightly, and looked at Merry closely. "And you are…?"

Aragorn coughed, imperceptibly edging his way between them. "This is Merry. He is Frodo's cousin."

"First cousin actually!" chimed in Pippin happily, bouncing up from somewhere. "And _I'm_ Pippin, it's short for Peregrine; Peregrine Took. I'm his second cousin once removed on his mother's side, _and_ I'm his third cousin once removed on his father's side. And -"

"_And,_ you are exceptionally talkative and I would greatly love to stuff your mouth with a sock, but alas! 'Tis far too big." cut in Strider, holding up his hands and grinning.

Pippin went a little red, but held his tongue. Glorfindel seemed remarkably at a loss as to how to reply to this torrent of family history.

"Anyway…" The ranger muttered, glaring meaningfully at Pippin.

"Ah yes. I will tend to Ringbearer, and see if there is anything to be done for him."

Glorfindel strode gracefully over to where Frodo lay, and kneeled down. He checked his pulse and shook his head, and then proceeded to carefully feel around the tainted wound using his long fingers. The other hobbits crowded around; Sam trying at once both to watch and not watch. Aragorn joined him in his examination, steadying the hobbit's body as Frodo twitched convulsively, some deep part of him responding to the pain.

After a long while, the golden-haired Elf, looked up, disappointment evident on his face.

"There is nothing I, or anyone can do. He is too far gone." Glorfindel stared pensively back down again. "Perhaps… No."

Sam jumped. He stammered out, "What? What were you going to say? Can you help him?"

"I thought… Well, it most likely wouldn't do any good." The Elf paused.

"Out with it, friend!" cried Pippin, his quiet momentarily forgotten.

"There is a method - a way of travelling into the mind which few people can perform. Fortunately, I am well trained at it. But…" he paused again, looking in concern at Aragorn, who had his head in his hands "My presence may be so strong as to break him." He gazed piercingly at each of them in turn. "If it would save him, could you; his blood, his friends; could you live with the knowledge that you agreed to that which destroyed his mind?"

There was absolute silence.

**A.N**

HELLO! KONICHIWA! HALLO! BONJOUR! HOLA! NI HAO!

So how are my favourite lil readers doing? : hugs :

Sorry I took so long! It was really hard to write and I don't even think it's that good…

An angsty newyearsmas gift to cheer you through the lonesome winter. Of course, if you happen to live in Australia, or some other nice hot place, well… I envy you.

: mutters angrily about the weather in England :

You may notice I have filched some elvish and a few lines from Tolkien, but they are in different places and times than last time they were used. And I put in a teensy hug. ^_^ So… yeah.

:D


	9. He will take it?

"Of course!" said Sam fiercely. "Even if he never even knew us, or knew anything, well, I would still be there standin' by his side. And I wouldn't regret it neither, not a bit. If he was well and happy, and not gonna turn into anythin' unnatural, that would be all that mattered."

Glorfindel and Aragorn exchanged quick glances that were almost imperceptible.

"Surely anything would be better than what awaits him now." whispered Merry.

"Yes…" sighed Pippin, his eyes continually flicking to Frodo and back.

"Then it is decided." announced the Elf. "I will enter Frodo's mind, and do what I can."

Aragorn straightened, and added, "But please bear in mind, hobbits, that his safety is not guaranteed. There are so many things that can go wrong, especially where dark forces are concerned. Glorfindel himself could be harmed in the process."

Pippin hid a snort of amusement under an obviously false cough.

"Well, I am glad you have placed so much faith in my success, Peregrine Took." smiled the Elf-Lord, patting him on the shoulder. "You're going to need it."

With that, he swiftly kneeled down again and placed a hand over Frodo's icy forehead.

"Wait!" cried Aragorn. He hesitated, and then stretched out a shaky hand towards the hobbit's throat.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Sam.

Strider looked sorrowfully back at them. "If this fails, I need to be sure. We don't know… He could…"

Pippin stared at his expression. All the riddles suddenly clicked into place. He understood.

"I will take it." he said.

Aragorn solemnly reached into Frodo's waistcoat pocket and drew the Ring out. He weighed it on his palm for a moment, and then quickly dropped the golden ring into the young hobbit's hand.

"Guard it well." he whispered, closing the small fingers around it.

Sam, Merry and Glorfindel stared at him with open mouths.

"He will take it?" Sam asked with some confusion.

"You just... You just..." stuttered Merry, "Am I seeing things? Because I thought I saw you just give Bilbo's old ring to the most irresponsible hobbit in the whole of the Shire!"

"He did!" beamed Pippin proudly, placing the Ring firmly into his pocket.

The Elf, shaking his head in bemusement, returned his hand to Frodo's brow.

"I need silence now." he said, waving a long arm.

There was silence.

Glorfindel closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind.

**A.N**

:) Sorry so short! I felt that I should start a new chapter for the next bit.

More forthcoming soon, please don't kill me! Please!!!

: cowers in terror of the maniacs crowding into the computer screen, wielding pitchforks and pounding their fists menacingly :

xx


	10. Black Mist

At first, nothing. Not a breath of life, not a wisp of thought. All was darkness.

But as the Elf probed cautiously further, he found himself drawn towards a small cloud of whirling black, in the centre of the ruined landscape that had become Frodo's mind. As his mind entered it, his body stiffened with shock.

Where before there had been an absence of thought, now there was too much. A maelstrom of tormented emotions and pain enveloped Glorfindel.

_Cold, cruel steel… A knife in the dark...Blood and poison…So many chains…_

_Shadows closing in… Crushing… Squeezing... Can't breathe…_

His spirit quailed at the onslaught, but he kept moving through it. At the heart of the miasma, lay a small body. He was lying in a shifting pool of some evil mist, his limbs splayed, his spine arched and his eyes closed. As the Elf-lord got closer, he saw nine long chains encircling the hobbit, reaching out like arms into the fog. A tenth coiled around his neck like a noose.

He attempted to sever them. At once, Frodo's eyes opened. They were a pale, unnatural blue, and stared at him accusingly.

_Go back! You cannot save me._

_I can, and will! _Thought Glorfindel, striking the shackles again.

_You must leave! They will make me…_

The desperate whispering thoughts were cut off. The hobbit's body convulsed, and then more of the dark mist streamed out of his mouth, nose and eyes. Suddenly, a deep, chilling voice echoed in his head.

_Who are you to interfere with the work of the Nine?_

_I am Glorfindel of Noldor. I have come to set free this innocent hobbit from your brutal chains._

The voice laughed spitefully_. It is too late, I fear. He is ours. These chains bind his will to the Nazgûl and I._

_Who are you? _A terrible sinking feeling had developed in the pit of his stomach.

_Do you not know me? _The voice laughed again.

_You are Sauron. _

_I am._

All of a sudden, Glorfindel's vision was filled with fire and flames. A brief image of an eye, wreathed in a red and orange halo appeared before him. Roars boomed and reverberated inside his skull.

And then he was thrown violently from Frodo's mind, and the Elf knew no more.

**A.N**

So fun to write! But so sad! But so fun! But so sad!

Am confused, and shall diminish into a vest.

[Apologies again for the shortness! The next chapter shall have to be long indeed to make up for these last two runts.]


	11. I Saw The Dark Lord

"Glorfindel!" cried Aragorn, catching the Elf as he collapsed. The hobbits drew back a little, their eyes wide in fear. The healing had apparently finished, and yet Frodo appeared no better. If anything, he looked worse.

The ranger lowered him slowly to the floor, and pleaded desperately, "Speak to me, friend!"

The Elf's blonde head lolled, and his eyes rolled beneath their lids. Strider shook him frantically, and then jerked his hands away in horror. He stared at them, and after a while, put them over his face.

The hobbits began whispering to one another.

"What happened?" said Sam, aghast.

"I'm not sure." replied Merry. "But I don't think it was good."

They both involuntarily looked for Pippin, who would have normally spoken up by now. But he was sitting on the ground and staring hard at something in his hand.

"Pip?" said Merry in concern.

The young hobbit looked up, an odd expression on his face.

"Pippin?" said Sam.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, hastily putting the hand in his pocket. "What did I miss?"

Merry light-heartedly cuffed him around the back of the head. "Only an Elf falling over!"

Pippin gawped at the sight of Aragorn cradling Glorfindel in his arms.

He rushed over to see if he could help, but Aragorn halted him with a glance.

There was a small sigh. The ranger looked down in surprise as Glorfindel stirred sleepily.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

The Elf groaned. "I do not feel well. My head hurts and my eyes burn dreadfully." He rubbed at them with the back of his hand.

Strider gently took hold of his wrist and stopped him. "Can you open them?"

"I … I should think that I am able, but I do not wish to." He said hesitantly.

Aragorn beckoned to Pippin. "Hand me the water skin, please." When he received it, he unstoppered it and poured a little onto each of Glorfindel's eyes, who moaned softly.

The cool liquid seemed to revive him however, and he sat up.

"So, what did you see?" asked the ranger. "Good tidings? Or bad?"

"Bad. Very bad. I saw… I saw terrible things." stammered the normally serious, composed Elf. He stiffened and shuddered. "I saw Him!"

Strider gasped, and gripped his trembling shoulders. "You saw the Dark Lord? How? Where?"

"In Frodo's mind. He spoke to me."

"What did he say?"

"He said that... that Frodo was already bound to him, and it was too late to save him." Glorfindel put a hand up to his head, partly in defeat, partly in pain. "And then He forced me out. I achieved nothing but harm. I'm so sorry Estel."

The hobbits looked dismayed, and Strider sighed.

"I thought this may be the case. Do not blame yourself." He looked up again, with more authority. "Now, open your eyes!"

Glorfindel visibly clenched his jaw, and his eyelashes flickered open.

Aragorn blanched.

**A.N**

A thousand apologies for not updating sooner!

So busy! So much coursework, ugh… T_T


	12. Faithful Til The End

"Estel, please move out of the light. I can't see." said the Elf.

"Friend, I - I'm not in your light." Strider explained, grimacing.

"I can't see." Glorfindel repeated. He put his hands to his eyes. "I can't see." He said again. The Elf swallowed. "How…?"

"Sauron."

The one word answer was enough. Glorfindel turned away, hiding his sightless white eyes. He had seen too much; played with fire, and the Dark Lord had burned him.

Aragorn punched the air, and cursed loudly and violently in Elvish. Luckily for the hobbits, they didn't understand Elvish. But they could probably guess the meaning.

Sam epitomised absolute misery perfectly. He had slumped next to his dying master with hopeless tears streaming down his dejected face. Merry was comforting Pippin, who had become quite agitated after his image of invincible Elves had been cruelly shattered by Sauron. Aragorn was testing how blind Glorfindel was, and it was - ironically - not looking good.

And so everyone was startled when Frodo began screaming. Sam recoiled, and then immediately grasped his master's hands, his face ashen. Strider bounded over, his expression panicked and fearful. The scream went on and on, filled with suffering and wretchedness and agony. And as it went on, his companions noticed his voice change.

Frodo had begun in a broken, hoarse cry, but now it had become something more.

Pippin grimaced and covered his ears in pain. So too did Merry, then Glorfindel, and then Aragorn. Sam alone did not. He stared at his master with a longing so keen, it blocked out all discomfort.

Suddenly Strider seized Merry and Pippin, and dragged them over to the other side of the clearing, where Bill the pony was neighing hysterically and trying to pull himself free of his tether. He rushed back for the Elf, who was fumbling around, trying to get away from the fearful noise.

"Come on Sam!" he yelled over the harsh sound. But Sam just carried on staring at Frodo, ignoring the Ranger's desperate pleas. Even when he came over and tried to pull the faithful young gardener away, Sam just turned to look at him. He shook his head, and then turned back to where his master was writhing and screeching in the dirt like a beast.

Aragorn ran then, his resolve abruptly giving way to a stomach-churning primal terror. He dashed over to the other hobbits, who were calling frantically to Sam, still with their hands clamped firmly to their ears.

They watched on in horror as Sam stayed where he was, cradling Frodo's hands. The scream reached an ear-splitting pitch. Sam's ears began to bleed.

Then something began to happen. They couldn't see the hobbits completely through the trees, but it appeared that a huge cloud of whirling darkness had descended upon Frodo and Sam.

The terrible screaming stopped.

A dead silence enveloped everything. Not even the owls dared to hoot. Pippin exhaled noisily, and then gave a shaky laugh.

"Well, I think it's finis -"

And then a massive rushing, sucking, spinning force exploded about them, whipping their hair around, then tearing at their cloaks like ferocious wildcats .

**A.N**

Short chapters are getting to be a bad habit of mine.

But I promise there will be updates soon 


	13. Almost

"Mr Frodo!" Sam cried, holding his hands to his breast. The supernatural wind rose and rose, until Sam had to throw himself towards a nearby tree, finally relinquishing his master's cold grasp. He hugged himself close to the dark trunk, and awkwardly twisted his head so he could look back.

To his astonishment, he saw his beloved friend hanging a few feet above the earth, his dark curls twirling around him like a black halo. Sam blinked a few times, even risking letting go one hand to rub at his eyes. He couldn't be seeing this! Absolute nonsense. It defied all hobbit-sense he'd ever heard of!

But he was seeing it.

Tears squeezed from his eyes as the wind reached fever pitch; leaves, stones and other objects caught in the black maelstrom lashing at his body. Reluctantly, he turned his scratched and battered face back to the tree. He was eternally grateful ever afterwards that he did not see what happened next.

Aragorn clung grimly on to an overhanging branch. Next to him, Merry had grabbed another. Poor Bill had hunkered down against a tree, his tether preventing him from fleeing. Glorfindel was giving a large rock a hug. Pippin however was hanging with a terrified expression onto Strider's boot.

"Merry!" he cried, flailing for the branch but missing.

"Hold on Pip! I'm coming!" Merry shouted back. He carefully inched his way along, one hand at a time.

"Merrrry! Hurry up!" Pippin screamed in exasperation. His hands were slipping on the Ranger's shiny boots.

Merry had almost reached him. He took a deep breath, swallowed, then reached out a hand towards his cousin.

"Pippin!"

The youngest hobbit looked up. His face was strained and scared. He made a grab for Merry's hand. He missed. Now he was only holding on with his left hand, and he almost let go. But he refused to fall.

"Come on!" urged Merry.

Pippin set his jaw, and put all his energy into reaching up against the powerful storm. His arm wavered, buffeted and blown about, but his Tookish determination steadied it again.

A foot.

An inch.

His fingers brushed Merry's hand.

Suddenly, there was an enormous explosion of sound. It sounded like the crash of a waterfall, the falling of a tree, the roar of a fire, a harsh clashing of steel swords. It was accompanied by a blast of air, carrying stones and debris.

A rock flew towards Pippin and struck him soundly on the forehead.

He blinked.

He let go.

"Pippin!" Merry howled.

His cousin seemed to fly away from him. Until he smashed into the trunk of a large oak tree. His limp body appeared stuck to the obstacle, the immense force of the wind holding him in place.

Too late, Merry realised he himself had stopped holding on. He closed his eyes as the tempest took him.

Strider's hand shot out and grabbed the hobbit's shoulder.

"I won't let you fall too!" He snarled hoarsely, tears in his eyes. Merry nodded, his eyes still shut and sobbed.

Trying his best both to keep his one-handed grip on the branch and give Merry a comforting squeeze, Aragorn manoeuvred his legs so that he was braced against the tree. With some of the pressure taken off his arm, he pulled himself up and rested his head upon his hand.

And so it was that it was only he that saw Frodo's transformation.

* * *

_Roaring and screaming and howls lost in the endless night._

_A whirling, spinning, spiralling black cloud of cold merciless evil. _

_It was coming for him._

_He could not stop it. His strength had been sapped over the past days. What little he had had. _

_And the Ring was gone._

_The Ring._

_He screeched his anguish and pain to the world. It exploded out of him in a wave of hatred and anger. It was not so! But yes, the tall one had taken it from him, and given it to the small one._

_The small one. _

**Pippin. **

_That childish buffoon who had plagued him with his idiotic questions, pathetic little voice and snivelling complaints._

_Who now had his Precious._

_He made a promise to himself. A promise to hunt down and kill this Pippin. But before he killed him, he would make him suffer. Torture and torment, for weeks, months, maybe even years._

_And then kill him._

_He laughed in his new voice. It was a much better voice than his old one. How weak he had been. So innocent and fragile. There was a word for it, but he no longer needed to use it._

**Good.**

_Good? He screeched in distaste. What was that intolerable word doing in his head? He hunted for the owner of the strange voice. Who was it? It certainly wasn't him._

**Frodo. You used to be me.**

_It could not be. His past self was dead, over taken by this swift evolution._

**Yet** **I remain.**

_Why?_

**Because we used to be good.**

_No!_

**Yes. We were good. We used to talk, play, laugh under the sun. We used to read, and write stories and pick flowers and fruit from the trees. We used to love, and be loved. Do you not remember these happy things?**

_It was not all good._

**True. There was sorrow and pain also.**

_That is why this form is superior. Better to inflict pain than to bear it. And that is what we shall do, you and I, in this magnificent shape. Together, we shall return the world to darkness and delicious despair. We shall serve the Great Eye and await his glorious return!_

**I will not let you!**

_You will not let me? Hah! What drivel. Good, good, good. Love, love, love. What use are they in the new world?_

**How can you think these things?**

_Like you said, you used to be me._

_He laughed , and flew away._

**A.N**

Please review!

*pant*


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